


suddenly the world looks back

by summerstorm



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-05
Updated: 2011-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-22 06:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard keeping your relationship a secret when your boyfriend lives with someone who can hear every little thing you do from every corner of the house. Set in early S2; spoilers up to 2.05.</p>
            </blockquote>





	suddenly the world looks back

Elena doesn't even realize anything's wrong until Stefan pulls away, straining his neck so their bodies can stay pressed together, so she doesn't have to take her leg off his hips. He looks away from her, towards the inside of the house. Elena waits patiently, tracing the outline of his collar with playful fingers, until he says, like a resigned warning, "Damon's downstairs."

"Oh," she says, mirroring his tone. It's hard keeping your relationship a secret when your boyfriend lives with someone who can hear every little thing you do from every corner of the house, but they really thought Damon was going to be out for longer.

"We could—" Stefan offers, shrugging.

"No," she says, because they couldn't. She doesn't trust Damon, for one, especially around Katherine; letting him know would make it far too easy for her to find out her break-up with Stefan is a lie.

Stefan brings his chin in, lowering his eyes until they're almost level with hers. "He's not going to," he says, tentative, his hand tightening high under her thigh.

She shakes her head and says, "Not risking it," a hissy whisper. She lets her voice come out when she adds, "I think I should leave," and Stefan frowns at her, still holding on.

"You don't have to—" He trails off, his mouth opening wider for a moment, and then he smiles at her. "You should," he says, tonelessly, and suddenly his mouth is on hers again, so abrupt their teeth clack. She thinks it's an accident until he bites at her lip, drawing it back. She opens her mouth and he slips his tongue in easy, kind of possessive, and next thing she knows he's hauling her up and she has both her legs around his waist and he's tugging her panties down over her ass.

It's pretty much zero—one, two, maybe three, all right—to holy fuck in the span of five seconds, and Elena can't help moaning when Stefan manhandles her back onto her feet so he can push her panties all the way down, kneeling as he goes, kneading at her knees and calves and stroking her thighs on the way up. She steps out of her underwear quickly and lets him pick her up again, crossing her ankles behind him.

"This is a bad idea," he says, eyes trained on her face. His face looks open, so present as he squeezes a hand between their bodies and under her skirt, spreading her out with his fingers, slicking them up with her wetness. He presses his lips together and cocks his head, a little smug, a little teasing, like if Damon wasn't downstairs he'd be asking if there was something specific that got her like this so fast.

Maybe she'd answer. Maybe she wouldn't.

He slips a finger inside her now, quickly joined by another, stretching her, and her head tips back a fraction, chest rising. "The worst," she agrees, feeling the corners of her lips curl up. She's trying to imply having sex while they're broken up is not wise — that their break-up isn't fake, that this is only a relapse — but a part of her feels self-conscious about it, worried it will sound ridiculous and like the lie it is. They should just not talk at all, let Damon think what he might.

Her shirt rides up over Stefan's arm as he moves. He ducks his head into her neck and says, his voice soft and honest, "Is this good?"

She rolls her hips a little harder into his hand and then pulls back, holding his wrist in place and balancing herself on his hips and shoulders. "Better if you just fucked me," she says, reaching for his belt. He intercepts her hand, but it's not long at all before she feels the head of his cock pushing into her, measured and sure, and she takes advantage of the angle he's holding her to lower herself on him, gently rush things along.

He moves them then, and she misses the in between; one second they're in the middle of his room and the next her back's pinned to a wall, his hand acting as buffer between it and her shoulderblades. She leans back, breathing in, breathing out, and mouths a small _thank you_ —for remembering she likes this. It's not that she doesn't appreciate that Stefan can hold her up anywhere without breaking a sweat—she appreciates that very much, in fact—but having a wall behind her gives her enough leverage to actually _move_ and not just let him do all the work. Besides, it's so much easier to let him know what she likes and needs with her body than with her mouth—requires so much less concentration—and right now, it's also a lot more convenient.

She uses it, her back grinding up and down the wall as she gets used to having him inside. He keeps his hands light on her waist while she adapts to this, and then he kisses her, open-mouthed, fingers sliding down and digging into the back of her thighs. She grins against his lips. This is probably the hardest she's ever failed at keeping up an act, and for a delirious second she feels grateful she doesn't have to lie during sex on any sort of regular basis, because she's not sure she could fool anyone.

Stefan's grip tightens, higher on the back of her thighs, and then he's pushing her up, his lips dragging down over her chin and her chest as he slips almost all the way out, then back up to her jaw and ear as he lowers her on him again. Having the wall behind her makes that easier, too; makes it easier to arch into his mouth when he bites at the swell of her breast, makes it easier to unbutton her shirt and undo the front clasp of her bra so he can reach her nipples. It's weirdly comfortable, the kind of smooth and symbiotic she doesn't see herself getting tired of.

She idly wonders if it would be like this if they actually broke up and ended up in bed together, if the way they know each other would keep them from desperately tearing at each other's clothes. It was always easy with Matt, familiar in a different way, and that didn't keep the one time she slept with him after her parents died from being probably the best, most passionate, least gentle sex they ever had.

She doesn't think it would make a difference for her and Stefan, either. It doesn't always now, and they don't even have to make up for lost time.

But this is good, too, so good, the way they move together, the way he shifts and adjusts her hips until he finds an angle that makes her gasp every time he pushes in, until she's settled enough that he can stop using both his hands to hold her and slip one between them to stroke sharp shapes over her clit.

Her nails find the back of his neck when he gets going, raising skin that's already smooth by the time her fingertips reach it again. She bites at his lips and his jaw and starts thinking about what it would be like, being desperate for him, having gone so long without touching him that every moment would be like rediscovering what he liked, what _she_ liked, and she starts rocking her hips faster, rougher, losing the rhythm in favor of letting her body get what it wants.

What it wants is apparently quick and dirty; what it wants is an orgasm, and it wants it _now_. Normally she'd draw this out longer, but they're _not_ broken up, they can do this again, and she can't stop moving, can't stop the pleasure from building and building until she's panting, loud and vocal, and then screaming and clenching around him.

He moves a little slower through it, taking over the motion of her hips for her, moving them into him, and before she's even regained her senses he's coming too, nosing and grunting into her neck.

He lifts her off him in a smooth motion and she clings to him with her limbs, hips pressing close together as soon as he slides out. She breathes into his collarbone, his shirt askew on his shoulder, feeling the air come back warm on her nose. She stays there for a while, her chest and stomach heaving, his hand stroking her back, sometimes kneading at her shoulderblades, sometimes digging into her ass when she lets her weight rest harder on him.

Eventually, she says, "You can let me down now." He cocks his head, amusement clear in his eyes, and she twists her lips into an exaggerated moue of frustration. He lets go of her legs, and she props herself up on his hip as she moves one foot down to the floor. Her other leg pretty much stumbles loose, and her knees give a little once she's standing. He catches her by the waist and kisses her again, slow and sweet.

"This was a bad idea," she says, not sure if she's referring to trying to lie their way through sex or if she's still, well, lying her way through sex. "We shouldn't do this again."

"Last time," he breathes against her jaw.

She nods. "Definitely," she says, and sighs a long-suffering sigh that turns into a laugh halfway through.

"You're both terrible liars," Damon yells from downstairs, loud enough for Elena to hear. Elena's eyes widen, and Stefan shrugs at her.

She considers shoving Stefan off and running down in a huff, keeping up the charade, but she's pretty sure it's already shot to hell. Damon can think whatever he wants. It's not like he ever does anything else.

"Does he not have anything better to do than spy on us?"

Stefan breathes in a sigh. "I don't think he can help it," he says, half sarcastic and half honest. "You shouldn't worry too much."

"I'm not," says Elena.

"Liar!" yells Damon from downstairs, and she throws her hands in the air before disentangling herself from Stefan and stepping off in the direction of her discarded underwear.


End file.
